Page 40 of His Last Shot

It’s Only Us and the Stars

Rachel I quickly hang my apron on the hook.

“Rachel! It’s Johnny. Open the door!”

His voice is frantic and breathless, with a sense of urgency I have never heard from him before. An icy wave of fear and dread washes over me.

Three hours ago, during the finals, my chest swelled with pride as Johnny refused to throw the match, defying my uncle’s demands; his quiet strength speaks volumes as to the type of man he is. And it’s one reason I love him so much.

His integrity.

After that last shot, he ran straight to me as the roar of the crowd rang out in my ears. I felt a surge of pride unlike any I’d known. We partied as a group, then Johnny left, while the bar was put back together, with a promise to come back and pick me up so we could celebrate alone.

But now, he’s banging on the door as if he’s being chased by zombies. Which is not what I expected when he returned.

Something’s not right.

I round the bar just as another wave of desperate pounding begins.

“Geez, Johnny. I’m coming!” As fast as my aching hip will take me, I rush to the door, unlock it, and swing it open. There stands my man, his arm resting on the door frame, his eyes shrouded in fear, a manila envelope held high in his trembling hands.

“Your uncle is one sick son of a—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. What is going on?” He whizzes past me, tossing the folder on the bar. I shut the door and lock it.

“Take a look.” With a pained grimace, Johnny paces the dance floor frantically, clutching his side. Intently, I watch him as my hand tremors and I grab the envelope, open it, and pull out dozens of photographs.

My stomach drops.

Picture after picture of Johnny’s family.

Mallory arriving at school, Laura leaving work, Johnny and Scott on the job, Johnny and me on a date, Johnny and me in his truck watching the stars, Mallory playing outside in what should be the safety of her backyard, Jake playing video games with his buddies, a photo taken through the window of Scott and Laura’s.

As if this isn’t bad enough, pages of our private text conversations smack me in the face. I zero in on one.

Johnny: Is Fire and Embers ok?

Rachel: Sounds perfect. What time?

Johnny: Scott and Laura will meet us at 6.

Johnny: Can’t wait to see you, my love

That’s why Dexter and Drew were at the restaurant that night. He intercepted our private messages.

I want to vomit .

As I flip to the last photo, a wave of nausea washes over me, and I grip my stomach. It’s from yesterday. Us kissing on his front porch. And written across the picture are five ominous words:

You know what to do.

A dizzying sensation overcomes me as the room spins, blurring my vision. I blink once, then twice. And even though I know the answer to the question I’m about to ask, I muster enough courage anyway. “Johnny, how did you get these?”

With a sigh, he stops pacing, and the tension builds on his shoulders as he approaches.

“Your uncle and a few of his buddies paid me a visit as soon as I got home. They handed me those.” He runs his hands through his hair and tugs at it in frustration, then lets out a huff.

“He gave me a warning with instructions.” I’ve never heard Johnny’s voice so raw and full of pain.

My stomach bottoms out.

I rub my elbow. “What kind of warning?” I’m having a hard time focusing as my world collapses around me.

His eyes meet mine, brimmed with fear, sadness, and unease. He opens his mouth to speak, then shuts it again, the words stopping on his tongue. Words he can’t say. “I have to end things with you. Never see or speak to you again, or he will come after my family.”

I stand motionless as the revelation floats in the air, weightless yet heavy with its meaning. And when it falls, the ground beneath me crumbles with its weight. Taking me and my new promising life with it.

This can’t be happening.

My brain short-circuits and my throat tightens, making it hard to breathe. The question I want to ask remains cramped, unable to escape. It breaks free. “What did you say?”

“I lunged for him, but before I could act, one of his guys took a baseball bat to my stomach.” He lifts his shirt, wincing. The skin on his perfect abs is red and welted.

“Oh, God!” I rush over, my hand hovering before my fingertips graze the burning, red skin; he hisses in pain, pulling away. He grabs onto my upper arm with purpose, his fingers digging in with surprising strength. Hot tears brim, blurring my vision.

With agonizing slowness, he pivots, his back stiff and tense, revealing another long welt running across his back. “They started the conversation with this.”

The tears that were threatening to flow spill over my cheeks. Gingerly, I run my fingertips over his red, inflamed flesh. I shake my head as the denial of our situation takes over. “No. I’ll talk to him. He wouldn’t go that far. There is no way—”

“Rachel,” Johnny pleads as he turns. His hand, calloused yet tender as it always is, cups my face. I search his expression, desperate for any flicker of hope or a silent understanding in his downcast eyes that we can make it through this. Any sign, no matter how subtle, that this isn’t our reality.

But there’s none.

Only defeat.

And sorrow.

“He’s been stalking my family for months.

And us … since we met.” He pauses to collect his thoughts.

The anguish on his face is so profound that it physically touches me as our gazes remain locked.

“He had Mallory followed. Sweet, innocent Mallory.” With a sharp twist, I pull away, turning my back and stepping away, needing space.

If anything happened to that amazing little human, well, the thought makes my insides queasy.

Hot tears brim in his eyes as he continues, his breaths hitches.

“Do you really want to take that chance?”

His footsteps, distinct against the quiet, grow closer as Johnny approaches, the rhythm pounding in my ears.

He wraps his arms around my waist, his grasp firm.

My fingers trace the lines of his forearms while my head falls back on his chest. He sighs in my ear.

“I didn’t bring it, but he also gave me a flash drive.

It’s full of falsified documents implementing me in his little gambling ring and tax fraud. ”

Stop! Just stop talking! Why does it keep getting worse?

The words are soft, but the meaning is hard and life-ending.

“It would ruin me and everything Scott and I built together. I would lose my family, you, and my life would be destroyed.” More tears, silent, unending tears.

“I don’t care about me,” he confesses. “But I do care about Mallory, my family. And you.”

I spin around, my arms flying around his neck, and bury my head in his chest, the rhythm of his heart somehow comforting.

His chin rests on my head as we stand in the middle of the dance floor, in an empty bar, clinging to each other and the life we imagined.

A life that’s slipping away, second by second, the chilling awareness heavy in the air. A sense of time running out.

“How long would we have to be apart?” I choke out through strangled sobs.

“I don’t know, my love,” he whispers. Muted sniffles follow his uncertain words.

He’s crying.

“I can’t do it. I can’t live without you.”

Suddenly, my reality, once full of promise, is now full of dread.

Johnny

I have to let Rachel go.

For my family’s protection. And for hers.

My fingers dug into her back, and I hold her so tight, terrified of crushing her.

Suddenly, she lifts her head as her eyes widen with an idea. “We can see each other in secret! I mean, that’s an option, right?”

My heart bottoms out with the false hope she’s grabbing at.

“No one has to know. We could meet outside of town.”

She pulls away and paces frantically, her arms flailing, a torrent of words pouring from her mouth.

I watch.

Stare .

“I’ll get my own place.” She nods in agreement with her own idea as she chews on her finger. “Yep, that could work. Micah will cover for us, and I’m sure Scott and Laura will, too. It could be like our secret hideaway where it will just be us.”

She runs over to me. I stand motionless.

“Or better yet … we could leave.”

Every muscle in my body is tense, rigid, and screaming in protest. My girl, desperate and reaching for any solution, is grasping at straws.

Trying to come up with how we can make this work.

With a slow, deliberate step, she returns, her hands settling on my chest, her face filled with desperate hope.

“Let’s just get out of here. Far away from all of this.

” A single tear falls over her lashes and lands on her flushed cheek, her eyes searching, hoping.

“Say we can make this work. Don’t leave me,” she strains.

My own tears spill over, fast and hard. I’ve never cried this much in my whole life. Not even when my dad died.

With a deep inhale, I pull my hands from my sides and take hold of her wrists, the warmth of her skin seeping through mine. “Rachel, I don’t want to,” I whisper.

“Then don’t!” she shouts as she jerks away from me. “We can do this, Johnny—”

“Rachel please…” I plead.

“He doesn’t get to win! He can’t do this.” She continues to step backward, her eyes wild as she chokes out her words through sobs. “We can leave! Start over! This can’t be the end. It can’t—”

“Rachel, STOP!” Her eyes widen in shock at my sharp outburst, a gasp eluding her lips as she flinches away. She’s never heard me raise my voice before. But I need to get her attention.